I feel that the most likely reason, is that we recently took our eldest son Thomas – he of photographic fame – up to Catterick Barracks to begin his six week basic Army training with The Rifles.

Thomas has always wanted to be a soldier – his granddad Tom taught him how to shine his boots; the safe way to hold and shoot a gun; Granddad Tom taught and encouraged Thomas in so many ways and passed on his knowledge of all things ‘army’.

Granddad Tom played such an important part, perhaps part of my sadness is that he is no longer with us to share in Thomas’ dream.

Louise

So imagine my pleasure when my great-uncle, very kindly leant to me some photos and a scrap book.  In amongst the photos and electricity board magazines was a letter written on a series of postcards dated the 18 January 1942 by a 20 year old Jack; the letter was written fifteen days after his marriage to Mary Ellen Densham, my gran from his RAF posting in Edinburgh.

You might say well what’s all the fuss about, its only a letter, surely there are many more letters and cards in the family archives.  He must have returned home and spent many happy years with his wife and family.  Unfortunately, the answer is that he did not.

Jack spent the war years as an electrician in the RAF and was fortunate enough to be posted close enough to his family to visit most weekends.  He survived the war and came out of the RAF in 1946, but just 5 years later he was dead,  Jack was 30.

I’ve wanted to know this man, my grandad for so many years – what was he like; how did he speak; was he funny and enjoy a joke?  Was he thoughtful and kind, would he have loved me as much as I loved him?

Although Jack’s youngest siblings are still with us, the age gap is quite large – Jack was 12 when his brother Tom was born, 18 when Bob arrived and 20 when Edward appeared, they remember very little of him.  My father remembers even less, he was nine when his father passed away and because of Jack’s illness, my Dad only really remembers him sitting in a chair in the corner with a patch over his eye and them both listening to Dick Barton.

There are only three photos of Jack with his family – my Gran showed me them just months before she died and for the first time in my life, I saw how much she still loved and missed him.

My Gran had an inner strength, a lady who was not an ‘over the top’ sort of person.  But she was fun – she let me sleep in her lovely big bed when I’d insisted on staying the night; she made me cheese sandwiches and let me stay up later than I should; and her Saturday dinners were the best I’ve ever tasted in my life and I knew, without a doubt she loved me.

I imagine that the man she married must have had complementary qualities.  I know he was a sporting man, regularly winning table tennis trophies; he played cricket and in his younger days was good at athletics.

Jack’s letter tells me more – it tells me that he was thoughtful and interested in his family.  He is confident and comfortable in his own skin.  He talks of a film he watched that was “an unusual sort of a film but very interesting”.  He talks of intending to watch “Hibernians and Motherwell play”.  He looks forward to “having a little chat” with his mother next time he’s over, because it was “such a rush last time”.

Through reading Jack’s letter I have a more rounded picture of the man he was, a family man just starting his life, albeit during the second world war, he had a new wife and his life stretched out before him.  A man who loved his mother, father and his siblings – the apple of his mother’s eye.

Jack was buried alongside his grandfather Sydney Wallace Dillon in October 1951, my Gran did not remarry.

I look forward, one day, to meeting him.

Louise

I first became acquainted with the watch when it was handed to me to take along to the Antiques Roadshow in March 1996 -”you never know it might be worth something” said Granny.

Unfortunately Geoffrey Munn was not impressed with my offering and asked who on earth had decided to clean it?  I said that I didn’t know.  He pointed out that someone had cleaned so hard that the numerals had come off of the face thus limiting its value to approximately £100.

I dutifully reported back to Granny, whom I think was a little disappointed.  However she soon recovered and sat me down and told me how it had been given to her mother Gertrude Harrison for her 21st birthday by her parents Eliza and Henry Harrison and so to her the watch was priceless.

It was at this point of the proceedings that Granny informed me that she would be leaving the watch to me in her will and asked if I wanted to know what else she had left me, I replied that “that was not my business Granny!” – she just laughed.  Looking back she wanted me to understand and appreciate how important this watch was to her and that it was a precious link her mother and that this link was to be passed down to me.

I’ve recently done a little research into the watch as I had forgotten all the wise words Geoffrey had spoken.  The watch was made by the French makers Guivre, in 18 carat gold.  The case is marked with Mercury, the French export small guarantee hallmark.  The case also bears the number 19170 which I believe indicates the case design.

Etched faintly on the inside rim of the case are a series of numbers ’26297 mk’ – I can only presume at the moment that this may be the mark of the watchmaker who assembled the watch or perhaps of the jeweller who sold the piece – who knows.

I’ve talked so much about my Granny in recent blogs that I feel I really ought to introduce her to you all properly – so with love I give you Doris Gill nee Star, my Granny.

These pencils are not so much jewels but instead represent a way of life which has largely disappeared – these are the elegant but practical jewels of bygone days.

As with a few of the objects included in this series these pencils were found in the belonginings of Ethel Star my Great Aunt and because of where and who last owned these items, there can only be two possible candidates.

These two ladies, I believe, would be either Agnes Downham or Eliza Hopkins – my 2 x great grandmothers on my mum’s side.  They both came from comfortable backgrounds – Agnes from Chippenham and Eliza from Leighton Buzzard.

I first became aware of the story of ‘the star’ from Doris Star (aka Granny), whilst she was recuperating at home after a long stint in hospital, I was sat keeping her company as she reminisced about the family’s past characters and events.

Doris explained that ‘the star’ had belonged to her father Cecil Star and was designed to hang from his watch chain, she remembered it well.

Cecil died at the relatively young age of 53 and reading between the lines I would say that Doris was the apple of his eye, she had certainly felt his death keenly at the tender ago of 19.

After Doris’ death 2010 there was some speculation that the blue stone in the middle was a sapphire but on a recent visit to the  BBC’s Antiques Road Show I was reliably informed by Geoffrey Munn that it was in fact blue glass.  The hallmark is difficult to read but Geoffery felt that it had been made in Birmingham in approximately 1897.

“This is my mother’s and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Jeal.  They lived in a cottage by the ‘Brewery Tap’ in Lakedale Road, Plumstead.  I used to go and see them and meet my mother there when I came from school and we would walk home together.  My mother died suddenly of a heart attach when I was 13.  I was in the Ext 7th and left school then. My sisters Dolly then 17 and Kate 14 were mother’s helps.”        Lizzie Heasman

You would think that would be enough to work out who the couple were, wouldn’t you? Wrong!!!

The Jeal family are not an easy one to track down – they need to be teased out rather than tracked down in 10 minutes (metaphorically speaking).

Their name can be spelt on a variety of ways Gel, Geal, Heal etc.  Add into this mix the name Jewiss and you’ve got a minefield – Huss, Jervis you get the picture [but that's for later].

I don’t find the London aspect of my family history very easy to get my head around – I have never been to Plumstead or walked its streets and acquainted myself with its finer points – this connection I feel is important to us, ‘the seekers’.

To overcome this problem I consulted and then transcribed Charles Booth‘s poverty account of Plumstead.

His descriptions are frank and to the point with none of the rose-tinting that one might get from memories.

“… all the houses practically brothels, used by sailors, loafers, waterside labourers and by the lowest grade soldiers … “ “

“… All these roads are 2st [storey], clean, fairly broad, built about 40 years ago : poor : have the look of tenants who earn money but don’t spend it well.  Clyne gives them all a bad character for drink …”

A thought suddenly occurred to me and I went off at a tangent and posted an ‘APB’ on a RootsChat forum and lo and behold an angel answered my call and it transpired that perhaps this wasn’t Mr. and Mrs. Jeal after all.

To be honest try as I might I’ve never be able to slot this photo into the Jeal / Heasman timeline – they are either dead; not born; not old enough for school; or simply in the wrong part of town.

With Rog’s help (of RootsChat) I started to think perhaps Lizzie had got it slightly wrong yes, the couple were her mother’s aunt and uncle but could it be one of her mother’s married aunts instead of a married uncle?  Only one could fit the bill – Elizabeth born 1826, three years older than her sister Emma (Lizzie’s grandmother, my 4x grandmother).

Elizabeth and her husband John lived on Cage Lane/Lakedale Road for much of their married lives and they didn’t die before Lizzie reached school age – hurray!

All in all I think ‘Rog’ cracked it for me, a fresh pair of eyes – thanks Rog.

So here is the photo in all its glory, I give you Elizabeth and John Jewiss.

Granny only had one husband – my granddad – who sadly died in 1973.  Ethel on the other hand had two husbands and a partner all of whom pre-deceased her.

Granny had two children; Ethel had several dogs, handbags, shoes, clothes … …

You get the drift, their lives were on the surface so different, they were their own person with their own personalities, but they must have shared something?

Their excellent skin, their longevity, their quest to out do each other, their absolute stubbornness, this list of their similarities just goes on and on!

I’ve thought on and off about DNA in genealogy for sometime.   There’s the Star ‘old’ gene; the Densham ‘skin tone’; the Sutcliffe ‘ginger’ hair and so one and I wonder what benefit I would really gain from knowing what my DNA looked like – could it really answer these most fundamental questions?

I suppose the answer is no, not really.  Yes, it can say whether or not you are definitely related to the cousin you found unexpectedly in Australia or if one is of European or African descent – but to me, although those answers are important and yes, if I had the money I’d like to find out; they are not the most pressing of questions.

So I suppose I’ll just have to see if the ginger gene continues down our line through my sister’s soon to be born twins or if both my sister and I live to 100 – we’ll just have to see.

Louise

Mainly my spare time has been taken up scanning, sorting, arranging and finally mounting my wonderful mother-in-law’s many photos.  During this process I have been able to immerse myself in the young lives of the Vernon family – not in a stalking type of way you understand but in an almost split screen version of life.

These thoughts hadn’t really formed fully in my mind – they’d drifted in and out like the remembrances of a pleasant but shadowy dream – until last Saturday night whilst I was sharing a rather lovely evening at the local Indian restaurant: The Naaz with Darren, Chris, Caron, Deb, Dave, Neil and their respective partners as a consolation prize for not going to the 60′s night at The Grand Hotel, Scarborough – the snow was to blame!

As the drink flowed and the food was finished so began a rather lively conversation between Chris, Alan, Darren and Dave who were recounting the events of a family wedding in 1975 and whether or not Neil had worn his school blazer to this wedding or another one.

The photos began to pop into my mind, the dress; the flowers; the guests – some of whom I never had the pleasure of meeting – all were there large as life – a little like one of those Harry Potter photo in my mind.

It’s almost as though I was there; a bystander in the events of my husband’s early life.

The conversation quickly moved to the reception – now I could see the couple cutting the cake; Viv enjoying a fag, Deb in her long purple dress.  Darren remembered the traumatic event of his Auntie Viv loudly proclaiming this to the rest of the guests that he’d started his starter before the speaches.

Now I know that it’s not always the case that fighting breaks out at wedding receptions (we didn’t have one at ours, as far as I know!) but, this particular wedding featured a spectacular one with gatecrashers!  Of course, there are no photos of this (pheweeee).  I’m surprised really; Darren was always taking photos even then.  The finer details of who did what to whom was enjoyed once again but all were unanimous in who had finished it – Dad.

It’s strange to think that I was 6 years old and was probably playing in the house with Mary Jane and Tiny Tears, unaware that my future husband was suited and booted and enjoying a rather eventful wedding and reception down at St. Augustine’s Church and Armstrong Hall half a mile away.

The family talk and I see – its rather nice.

Dot’s family photos span more than half a century and show a growing Vernon family who enjoy nothing better than their own company – the wedding in 1975 and the evening in 2010 were no exception.

Louise

From talking to members of the family and putting the pieces together it would seem that as a young man Herbert spent some of his youth in Spain immersing himself in the language and culture reluctantly returning home before he married his first wife Annie Evans.  Herbert married twice, had six children and eventually moved to Doncaster but when Spain needed him he went to her aid and paid the ultimate price.

The Spanish Civil War is not my area of expertise and to be honest I do not fully understand the ins and outs of the situation but the main objective of the ordinary Spanish man was the fight against the fascist movement.

There are many websites that can explain much better than I the full story but for me and of course Herbert, the Battle of Jarama is its beginning and end.

Herbert lost his life on the 27 February 1937 on what has become known as ‘suicide hill‘ along with approximately 400 of his comrades.   If you follow the ‘suicide hill’ link you’ll get a feeling through John Corcoran’s site what they were up against.

I knew little of the British involvement in this often forgotten war before I found out about Herbert and from the reading I’ve done the war was not an easy one, ultimately Franco came to power.

Louise